Language of Love
by AnimaAmore
Summary: Series of short one-shots featuring Dramione, based on the alphabet. B is for "Bludger."
1. Chapter 1

**LANAGUAGE OF LOVE**

**Chapter 1: Alohomora**

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Hermione Granger was very annoyed.

As in, annoyed in astronomical proportions. Incredibly so. And the reason for her annoyance? Why, it was thanks to that pure-blood ferret from the Slytherin House – Draco Malfoy.

Everyone in the House of Gryffindor, as well as pretty much those from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, could attest that that was nothing new. Draco Malfoy was far from being endearing to anyone, especially to those he called "Gryffin-dorks." He was arrogant, obnoxious, and a big bully to everyone who wasn't part of, or somehow affiliated with, the Slytherin House. But he was especially mean to muggle-borns, such as Hermione.

Now, what annoyed Hermione was not that he was bullying her. He wasn't being mean, exactly, or even teasing her, which was quite out of character for him. If that was the case, she's be somewhere along the line of furious and hurt (a deadly combination). Plus, the boy already knew that she wasn't afraid to hex him if he crossed the line, or, if need be, use her small, dainty fists to communicate her feelings. No, what annoyed Hermione wasn't his arrogance or meanness towards others. No, it wasn't what you'd expect from Draco Malfoy at all.

What annoyed Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was his _infuriating_ persistence to keep waving his wand at her, yelling out "Alohomora!" every time he saw her. Every. Single. Time.

It had been strange, at first. The proud, arrogant Malfoy who was always impeccably composed and dressed, with impeccable manners (to those he chose to show them to) and grades suddenly behaving like a fool? Never in a million years would she have imagined it (or maybe she did, when she daydreamed of hexing him so bad his wits would leave him). But behave, and look, like a fool he did. And he didn't even seem to care.

It had started out about two weeks ago. She had been innocently studying in the Hogwarts library, as she was predictably prone to do, when all of a sudden she hear the soft screech of a chair being pulled beside her. She hadn't thought much of it; her friends often came to find her here, patiently (sometimes) waiting for her to finish what she was doing before talking to her.

You can imagine her shock when, after a few minutes of silence and not looking up, she heard the chair being roughly flung back, causing the peaceful silence of the library to shatter, and making her look in its direction in alarm.

The last thing she ever expected to see was Malfoy, _Draco_ Malfoy, standing where she had thought one of her friends was, the chair that had created such ruckus fallen behind him, looking at her with mirth and mischievousness in his silver eyes.

Before she could utter a word, he had his wand right up to her nose and shouted "Alohomora!" before racing out of the library at full speed.

Saying that she had been confused and astounded was an understatement.

After that incident at the library, Malfoy continued to repeat his little trick at least once a day up to date. At first it had been confusing. What was the point of his actions? It seems that he only targeted her, as if expecting something specific out of her, since he only did it when she was alone. But when she refused to play his little game, refused to let him get a rise out of her and ignored him, he upped his game.

He started playing his little stunts in front of the whole. Damn. School.

Harry and Ron were the first to witness the event. She had told them about it after the first time, but they had been skeptical, and understandably so. But when they had just returned from visiting Hagrid in one of their little escapades, wanting nothing but to take a hot bath and go to sleep, they all almost had a heart attack when Malfoy suddenly swooped down on them on his broom, pointed his wand at Hermione and yelling "Alohomora!" before soaring back into the black sky and disappearing from view.

As baffled as they were, Harry and Ron resolved to be with her every minute of the day until the matter was resolved. To say that they were slightly disturbed with their sworn enemy's behaviour was putting it mildly, and they were suspicious of his true motives. So they stuck to her like glue.

Although she appreciated the gesture, this only served to further annoy her. She did rather enjoy having some alone time. And Malfoy, with his stupid antics, took that away from her. Which only made her all the more annoyed with him.

And on the days passed, and Malfoy had yet to miss a day that he didn't wave his wand at her and say the dreaded charm: "Alohomora!" It was the talk of the school. Hermione had even caught the professors, even the _Headmaster_, talking about it. It was quite infuriating. She wondered what she ever did to deserve this. She could take insults, but this… she wasn't sure what to make of this. And so, she didn't know the appropriate response to it.

After nearly suffocating from her over-protective friends and the gossip, and feeling like she was about to explode from all her pent-up anger and annoyance, Hermione slipped away from the school, skipping classes (which was a taboo for her), and went to lay down by a tree in the gardens. She needed to relax, and being in that bustling, prying environment was doing nothing to help her.

She mauled over Malfoy's odd behaviour. What could have brought it about? Sure, he wasn't discriminating against her like he used to, his taunts had all but ceased altogether, and he was actually stopping the other Slytherins from behaving badly towards her. What was going on? She just couldn't make sense of any of it.

Just when she was about to doze off, her mind tired from over-thinking, none other than _he_ showed up. Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing out here, Granger?"

"What are you doing out here, Malfoy?" she asked back, not even glancing his way. She just didn't have the energy to deal with him.

"I asked first."

"I asked second."

"Stop being a smart-aleck."

"But I am smart, though my name isn't Aleck."

Silence.

"Where did all this sassiness come from?" he asked, and she could hear him coming closer.

"I don't know. I don't care. I could always have had it, for all I care."

"Touchy."

"Do not test me, Malfoy," she growled, finally opening her eyes to send a glare his way. "I'm not in the mood."

Draco ignored her hostile look as he came closer and sat beside her, a couple feet away from where she was laying.

"I'm not testing you," he said.

"Really? Because it sure seems like it." He scoffed.

"I should say that _you_ are testing _me_, Granger."

Now it was her turn to scoff. "Oh_, please_ indulge me – how have _I_ been testing you when you are the one acting ludicrously? How is that not testing my patience?"

"First of all, I wasn't acting ludicrously," he said indignantly. "Second of all, my patience is the one being tested, not yours."

"Explain."

He sighed, a frustrated, long sigh that was so unlike his composed, regal self that she forgot her anger momentarily and focused on him.

He looked at her, his hand running his platinum-blond hair out of its meticulously slicked-back style. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to, as you say, ' act ludicrously,' for over _two weeks_, just for you, and get ignored?"

"I'm not following."

He sighed again, running his hands over his face. "I thought you were supposed to be the brightest witch of our age."

"I am!" she sniffed indignantly. How dare he!

"Then think, for the love of Merlin. What have I been doing?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Pretending to cast a charm on me, _on the most inopportune of times_."

He ignored the second half of her answer. "And what charm is that?"

"_Alohomora. _It's a charm for opening locked objects." He looked at her expectantly. "So?" His face fell.

"You really don't get it? Not even a little bit?"

"Malfoy –" she started, but he cut her off.

"Draco."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name is Draco, not Malfoy. Malfoy is my father."

"You're a Malfoy as well."

"Yes, but it makes me feel old." She rolled her eyes at his childish answer before continuing where she'd left off before he interrupted her.

"Okay, _Draco_, as I was saying: those kinds of charms don't work on people, or on living beings. They only work on inanimate objects. You should know this."

"Of course I do! I'm not a fool, despite what you may be thinking."

"I know you're not a fool, so be quiet already. You're giving me a headache with all this yelling."

"Oh. Sorry."

There was an awkward silence as Draco looked at the grass between them and Hermione realized that he had just apologized to her. Draco Malfoy didn't apologize to anyone. Ever.

"But think of the symbolism," he broke the silence.

"Symbolism?"

"Yes. You know, what does using the _Alohomora_ charm on a person signify?"

She wasn't sure what to make of him or the situation they were in, but decided to play along. "Well, since the charm is for opening locked objects, using them on a person would symbolically suggest that whoever is casting the charm is trying to get the other person to open something about themselves." He nodded.

"That's right. You're exactly right."

"Then why are you using them on me?"

"You have closed off a part of you. I want you to open it."

"What part of me is closed? I'm a very open person!" she argued, intrigued and suspicious of his motives.

"Not all of you is open."

"Oh yeah? What part of me is closed, Mr. All-knowing?"

She wasn't expecting what he did next.

He raised his hands and, with his index finger, pointed to her chest, right where her heart was, his finger just centimetres from her clothes. "Your heart is closed, Hermione. I want you to open your heart to me." He raised his silver eyes, so honest and open, to meet hers, and she wasn't prepared for him, his words, his sincerity. She blushed, swatting his hand away with less force than she would've if the situation was any different. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a pointed look.

"Why do you care about that so much? What's in it for you?" she questioned him.

He didn't answer her, merely took out a red rose with the thorns cut off from the sleeve of his robe. He looked at it wistfully for a moment before he handed it to her, and she, too shocked to do anything else, accepted it, her body moving on its own before she could process what was going on.

Before she could pull her hand back, he held it in both of his own, her hand dwarfed by his two larger ones. Then, he leaned in closer to her and whispered, "A chance." Then he disappeared.

Hermione sat there, dumbfounded. Did that really happen? The rose in her hand, carefully trimmed of any thorns, seemed to say so. She gently fingered the fragile petals, and thought about Draco, who had called her by her name, and his odd yet very romantic behavior.

She smiled. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't all she thought him to be. "_Alohomora_, indeed."

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**Here's my first Dramione one-shot. I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please leave a review. Thanks for reading! **

**P.S.  
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**Don't expect super fast updates. I'll do my best, though!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**LL Chapter 2: Bludger **

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Draco was competitive by nature. Anyone in Hogwarts could have told you that. He was not just competitive though, he was _supremely_ competitive. Working past his limits to beat others at whatever it was he was feeling competitive in was something not many people knew, though. Why? Because Draco Malfoy is just good at everything. Sure, he might have to put _some_ effort into doing things, but he never had to struggle or push himself hard to achieve anything. He was a winner, a king, a master of everything by birth. He was born perfect.

Or at least that was what he wanted the others to believe, as his forefathers had done before him. And he succeeded in that legacy, too.

At least, nearly succeed. Everyone in Hogwarts and the magical world believed his perfection, he gifted life, as was the norm for a Malfoy. The few who didn't readily swallow his magnificent words were mostly the Gryffindorks, but even most of them believed it. The true few who didn't buy his act for a moment were the Golden Trio – insert gagging sound here – who detested him as much as he did them. They were Harry Potty, the ringleader (although he was too much of a goody-two-shoes to be a _real_ leader, but there you go), his faithful though dim sidekick Ronald Weasel, and the little Miss Know-It-All Hermione Mudblood Granger, who was the only true brains in the little loser group. And out of the precious Golden Trio, it was her who believed his act the least.

How she managed to do it, he didn't know. He never let down his guard, even when he was asleep. In fact, he did his outmost to be even more perfect, if it was possible, when the little snot-nosed Gryffindork was around because, frankly, her smart little head drove him mad with her perfect memory, her perfect capacity for retaining detail, her perfect ability to figure out problems, and her perfect ability to flawlessly copy a spell pretty much on the first try. Her mind was simply perfect, and it irritated him to no end how a dirty mudblood, of all people, had an ability that was superior to _his_, though he made sure no one knew this. Well, that is, no one but _her_.

She didn't rub it in his face, the fact that she knew that her brain was superior to Mr. Perfection himself. She sniffed disdainfully at him for some crude remark or other, frowned when he laughed at another's expense, glared when it was her at the short end of the stick. But she never once boasted about her superior prowess mind-wise. She was, in fact, somewhat humble (at times). And nothing could irk him more.

He was used to people trying to get back at him, for some reason or another, and the fact that she didn't (at least for this mental game – he was fully aware now that she wasn't above revenge, thanks to a broken nose, courtesy of her) unnerved him. And when Draco was unnerved, he had to blow off some steam. And what better way to do that than to practice Quiddich?

So there he was, alone in the Quiddich field, broom in hand and the box containing the magical balls of the game at his feet. He had discarded his robes to fly better, and stood with only his school pants and shirt, having also peeled off his Slytherin tie. He bent on one knee and, after taking a deep breath to ready himself, unlocked the box, letting all hell loose in the form of two very fast, very dangerous enchanted balls that go by the name of Bludgers. The two maroon balls shot to the sky after being unfastened from their security belts, and Draco was on his broom doing the same in an instant. Today he was practicing evasion and speed. After all, how could he be a good seeker if he couldn't protect himself from the Bludgers, should they get past his defensemen? It was not rare that such a thing did happen.

Whoosh! A bludger had whizzed by his head, mere inches from giving him one heck of a concussion on the back of the head, but he had seen it in time and had flipped upside down on his broom. He straightened back up and went for the stands, zig-zagging between them at full speed, turning and flipping as he did so. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, and being a seasoned player by now knew to act and not to think, so he allowed his instincts to take over and he did a front flip, a Bludger speeding straight through where his torso had been. He had just saved himself from a couple cracked ribs.

Draco licked his lips and narrowed his eyes in concentration. He was getting better, yes, but it wasn't enough. He was managing to avoid the Bludgers, but just so. He was cutting it too close. So he decided to try something new. Instead of dodging the Bludgers, he was going to engage them head on. He hovered in his broom, all his senses on alert as he looked for one of the damaging balls. He spotted one curving around one of the stands, making its way straight for him. He smirked.

He pulled his broom up, up, and when he was so high up that the field could fit in his hand, he did the unthinkable: he told his broom to stop, and he plummeted to the ground, urging his broom to go faster. Soon enough, squinting through the rushing wind, Draco saw the Bludger heading towards him. It was going to be a head-on collision, with Draco taking the worst of it since he could actually break. Unless he pulled away on time.

The Bludger was coming closer. And closer. It would pin him with all the force of the seven hells in just a second, and Draco closed his eyes and did another unthinkable act: he let go of his broom and jumped.

The Bludger crashed uselessly into the air he had occupied, brushing the tail of his broom and causing a few strands to be ripped off, but it continued to speed uselessly into the sky, and meanwhile Draco was crashing to the ground, willing his broom to catch him, to catch him, to hurry, and –

He was safe! His broom had done his will, and had managed to reach his side with enough time for him to grab hold of it and hoist himself up before changing their direction, yards of space between them and the ground to spare. Draco looked behind him as he flew away, amazed. It worked! He turned back to face the front, and a small smile formed on his lips, slowly developing into a full-blown smile from which joyous laughter flowed. He had done it! No one had ever tried, much less managed, to do such a daring thing, and he, Draco Lucious Malfoy, had succeeded!

He slowed down and gave himself a moment to catch his breath. Once he had his erratic heart more or less under control, he took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. It was time to try something new.

He urged his broom forward, slowly gaining speed until he was once again over the Quiddich field; gathering his courage before he abruptly sped towards the ground, intent on mastering one of Harry's winning moves – to go for it. He waited until the last possible second before jerking the end of broom up with all his strength, closing his eyes in effort and to not see his body splattered all over the place should he fail. It was daring, yes, but Draco was determined to do it. And lo and behold, three eternal seconds later, Draco cracked open his eyes to find himself intact and sailing vertically straight into the stratosphere. He grinned.

Not bad. He was making progress. A _lot_ of progress.

Draco was so pleased with himself that he momentarily forgot that there were two Bludgers, and it was then that the other Bludger smashed into him from the side right on his shoulder, knocking him off his broom and towards the unmercifully hard ground.

Wandless, Draco could do no more than to shut his eyes tightly and wait for the impact that would shatter his bones and hope that as painful as that might be, that he'd live to see another day. He sailed through the air, screaming in pain, fear and frustration – he was so close! – but the dreaded impact never came. Was he really that high up? Merlin, then that meant that the impact would be worse! He screamed louder, but he body still did not touch the dreaded field. Curious and somewhat afraid, he cracked open an eye just to find himself floating several feet above the ground, safe and sound.

What had just happened?

"You blundering idiot!" Granger's furious voice shrieked at him from the ground, her wand pointed at him. Ah. _She_'s what happened. That explains a lot. "Do you have any idea how close to getting killed you were?! Are you really that daft or do you think you're invincible? Merlin!"

"I don't know why you're here or why you're interrogating me, Granger," Draco huffed, attempting to cross his arms defiantly but failing to do so, so instead he settled for holding on to his injured arm. "And for your information, I am neither daft nor an idiot. I had it all under control."

She snorted. "Yeah, because plunging onto the ground from twenty stories high with probably a broken arm is having things under control."

"Bloody, sodding Bludgers," Draco cursed under his breath. Then more loudly, "Are you going to let me down now or what?"

Hermione hmph'd at him, but carefully lowered him until he was standing mere feet from her. Once his feet touched the ground, Draco shook himself like an indignant bird, before turning on his heel and walking back to the field.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"For my broom, and away from you," he answered, never once turning to look at her.

"I can heal your arm."

"I don't need your help. Now sod off, mudblood!"

"Stop calling me that!"

Now Draco turned, giving her a cynical smirk. "Why? Can't handle the truth?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously at Draco, and that's when he realised his fatal mistakes: one, he was wandless; two, he was injured, three, he was alone; four, he had just gravely insulted the brightest witch of their age who probably knew more than enough spells to set his straight; and five, he had done so while mistakes one, two, and three were in effect. Merlin, someone had it out for him that day.

"You asked for it, Malfoy," Hermione growled as she raised her wand and pointed it at him, making Draco gulp as cold sweat formed on his back. He once again shut his eyes, like he was prone to do in near-death situations, and hopped she had at least had a good enough day at school so there was no pent-up anger and stress she was unjustly unleashing on him.

She yelled out an incantation, and he braced himself, her magic hitting him straight on his injured shoulder. He yelped, more in surprise than anything, because truth be told, it didn't hurt at all. In fact, her magic was soothing the abused shoulder, relaxing his tense muscles, mending his fractured bones and setting them back in place, displacing any and all pain. The magic seemed to not only soothe his injured body but also his soul, refreshing it by wiping away all bitter resentment he had ever held against non-Slyhterins, and he strangely felt… at peace.

But all too soon her wonderful magic ceased, and he was left by himself once again, but healed and strong once again as the perfect Draco Malfoy. His eyes opened as if he was awakening from a trance, and he stared blankly at the young muggle-born witch before turning his blank stare to his arm. Although he knew her flawless magic had just done the trick, he still experimentally lifted his arm tenderly, flexing his hand and turning it, swinging it in small circles before switching to full arcs. When he felt no pain or discomfort, no matter what strange or sudden movement he made, he dropped his arm by his waist to stare at it once again.

What is this? He insulted the young witch and in return she helps him? Has the world finally cracked, or was it her – or worse yet, had _he_ cracked?

Nah.

He returned his shocked stare up only to see Hermione walking away, probably back towards the castle, wrapping her cloak about her tightly as the wind brought with it a chill. Draco had the sudden urge to call out to her, he didn't know why.

"Granger!"

She turned, surprised and alert. He couldn't really blame her for being cautious. When he said nothing, she raised a quizzical eyebrow, clearly telling him to either speak up or to stop wasting her time. Draco wondered when she had gotten so good at communicating with such efficient body language.

_She's Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of our generation,_ he thought with some reluctant admiration._ Of course she knows. Merlin, I'll bet my broom she doesn't even know she's good at it._ Just one more reason to hate her.

Hermione, apparently not having the patience to deal with his strange mood swings, shook her head and continued walking away. Draco had to hurry.

"Thank you."

She froze. So did he. There was a moment of absolute silence where only the leaves on the trees dared to move, before Hermione slowly turned around to face him fully, her face clearly showing her complete surprise. Draco Malfoy? Thanking her? The world must be about to end!

Draco, as if reading her thoughts, scowled before marching back to his broom, nose haughtily up in the air. He thanked her, only because his mother raised him to do so when a situation like this arose, not because he truly felt the need to. He did what he had to, he wasn't about to repeat it. Let the mudblood ponder on it all she wants, he wasn't about to say anything else.

Apparently she understood this because a few seconds later he heard her footsteps moving away as she resumed her return to the school. He hopped on his wand and moved towards his discarded robes and pulling out his wand from his pocket, using it to call back the Bludgers. That was enough practice for one day. In a few seconds, he heard a faint whistling coming from above him. He looked up; it was the Bludger he had dodged by jumping from his broom. It was only now coming down. That thought made he smirk in satisfaction.

But when a few more moments passed without any sign from the second Bludger, Draco worried that it might have gotten away. It didn't usually happen, but seeing at how fast the little buggers were going, it wasn't impossible. He sighed irritably. Great. Now he had to go find the bloody ball.

He pulled on his robes and grabbed the bag where the Quiddich balls resided before taking to the air on his broom, his wand securely held between his calloused fingers and broom stick. He looked around him from his high perch, using his training to spot the annoying ball. And spot it he did, heading straight for Hermione.

"Damn it!" he cursed, and swooped down at full speed after the ball, knowing that trying to catch it in time with his magic would be useless from such a distance. "Granger! Look out! " he yelled as loudly as he could. Hermione jumped in surprise, turning just in time to see the Bludger closing in on her with Draco a few yards away in the air on his broom, his face half-panicked and half-determined. "DUCK!" She didn't need to be told twice.

She threw herself on the ground, flattening out to reduce the chance of being hit, and just in time as the ball whizzed by the spot she had been standing on. Panicked, she scrambled towards some trees, hoping the old solid trunks could offer her some protection. Meanwhile, Draco was focused on catching that damnable Bludger. He waved his wand, throwing incantations there and back, eventually cornering the Bludger into a smaller area.

_You're mine,_ he though victoriously, and swooped in for the kill, wand and Quiddich bag at the ready. But the Bludger refused to give up, and dodged his magic as it flew straight down… into the trees where Hermione was sheltering. Draco called the insufferable magical ball every bad name he could think of in all languages he knew, swooping once again after the Bludger. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to stop it, with or without magic, he did the only course of action he could think of: he jumped off his broom, using his magic to speed up to overtake the ball, and tackle Hermione out of the way.

The Bludger was right behind them, and Draco quickly held up the magic bag, and ZOOMP! In fell the ball into it's place. Without a moment to lose, Draco quickly jumped up and attached its bindings, trapping the ball once again. He closed the bag, only sighing in relief when he heard a soft click as the buckles clicked into place. He rubbed his face tiredly. He needed to have a word with the wizarding company that made these balls.

"Why those blundering, bloody bludger balls!" Hermione spluttered. Draco turned his head, looking at Hermione whose face was flushed from anger and adrenaline. "I don't understand why you people insist on playing with such obvious health risks!"

"For fun, of course," Draco replied breezily as he stood up, his stiff bones cracking and popping. "Same as muggles and their extreme sports, I imagine."

"Yes, yes, you all get high off it, I get it. But then you get so high that you never return to life. Literally." She shakily stood up, still a little disoriented from having been suddenly tackled from behind, and Draco rolled his eyes at her before grabbing her arm and pulling her up easily. She blinked owlishly at him before he dropped her arm, letting her brush off the dirt and bits of grass on her robes. "Anyways, I suppose a 'thank you' is in order, much as I hate to say it."

He smirked. "Mudbloods don't usually thank people like me, but I suppose I shall accept it." She rolled her eyes at the childish insult.

"Good-bye, Malfoy. Stop trying to get killed when there's no one around to save your sorry butt."

"Will keep that in mind, Granger, not that I asked you."

"Whatever, ferret." He frowned. He detested being called that. "And here's another unasked for tip: clean yourself up. It looks like you just stepped out of a battlefield." He looked down at himself. His brand new robe was ruined!

Hermione laughed before walking away once again, this time completely safe (or as safe as one could be in Hogwart's magical grounds), leaving Draco to wonder at what to do next. He supposed he should fix himself. So he took out his wand, grumbling about needing to do such needless, servant work.

Just as he was about to say the spell, he froze. For some reason, his mind wondered why Hermione was at the Quiddich pitch to begin with. Neither of her Gryffindork friends was anywhere close by, and she evidently loathed the dangerous magical sport. So why was she there?

Draco looked up at the way she left, seeing nothing but the castle. Hermione was walking through the giant wooden doors before she disappeared from his view. Could she have been there to see him?

_Get a bloody grip of yourself, Draco! Do you realize what you're thinking?_

He scowled, snatching up the Quiddich bag with the troublemaking balls inside. "Stupid Bludgers, making me think weird things…" He quickly fixed his robes, and flew to the Slytherin dungeons, all the while thinking about Hermione's reasons for being there, alone, and why she helped him when he didn't deserve it. But what bewildered him most of all, was why he had felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach when he had held her to him when he tackled her to protect her from the on-coming Bludger.

Yep, he wasn't thinking rationally. And it was all the damn Bludger's fault.

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**This wasn't as romantic as the last one, but I'm trying to get all sorts of stories into my alphabet-based collection; from super romantic to not so much, like this one. Hope you enjoyed nonetheless!**


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